


To Fall

by ladyiceheart



Series: my heart is dragging me down into oblivion [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Other, Ysayle/WoL if you squint, like it's there but you really have to squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyiceheart/pseuds/ladyiceheart
Summary: And so, for the last time, she prays.Part one of a series exploring the death, afterlife, and rebirth of Ysayle Dangoulain.
Series: my heart is dragging me down into oblivion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901221
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	To Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into publicized fanfiction in several years, though I have pursued several creative writing venues between my last public venture and now. I decided it best to begin this new writing venture with the character from Final Fantasy XIV that is dearest to my heart, and pay tribute to her though exploring her character as heartily and respectfully as I might, while likewise offering her new depths beyond that which the canon has granted us.
> 
> It is with the encouragement and love of my two closest friends that I bring this work to you today. I'd like to keep early sentiments brief so that you may delve into my writing, but please read my end notes for proper acknowledgements and afterthoughts. Thank you for clicking in!

In this expanse of chartreuse there is a chill that overcomes her, and how strange that when she has not been cognizant of the cold in quite a long time. She’d suffered in the snow long ago, when she was but a child, but past her youth she felt little sting from the harsh winter which blanketed her old home. To feel a chill here and now signifies a moment poignant, and fleeting. Or it would, were life as beauteous as a poem. No, life is cruel, and she knows that well. She feels the cold because her time draws near. She knew as much for the entire duration of her venture here upon Hraesvelgr’s back, clutching at a crystal and seeking penance for her sins,  _ forgiveness _ .

Still, in this chill, there is a silence — not one punctuated by grief, or tension, but a stillness known only in moments of true revelation, and, in her case, acceptance. She was but a sinner, a fate she had long accepted, and life only allotted sinners so much time to make amends… to make peace. She had possessed but one hope in this world to which she had pledged her undying faith, and this prayer for a better future would yet remain unrealized by the time she parted from the waking world. Though perhaps that was the penance she was due — a bitter thought, that. Now her only hope lies with a warrior who was more befitting of Mother’s gift, a warrior who had shown her such goodness and love, even when unwarranted. A warrior bathed in light, who would see their world truly bettered, now had her torch to carry forth. Their life must not end here. If it was her own life, once shrouded in ice, that was scorched out in exchange, that would be a worthy sacrifice.

So she prays. One last time.

Was her blessing of light so powerful to conjure a goddess born only of her hopes and dreams? Hraesvelgr certainly spoke of her summoning in a manner that left little room for debate. Yet even now, as she knows the finality of what must be done, she ponders. Could such a saint hear her? Even as a faint whisper of a voice… was it possible? Was she blessed by her faith — if not before, then in these fleeting moments?

Hraesvelgr understands her intentions, and she departs from his back with a roar from the great wyrm. Her body begins to plummet, falling steady as the world rushes around her as she offers her thanks to him for accompanying her to her execution.

There is a flurry of aether in the air, and that chill she felt before swelling to form a cocoon of ice around her body and make it something more. Something she could never be in reality. For these fleeting moments, though, she could be mighty. A goddess… and something which wielded even more power than that too. There were so many voices within her now, all belonging to those she lost in the absolute onslaught of snow and ice and cold, and all those who too had lost. 

Ice shattering around her, eyes luminous, _ she floats _ , and with a fury bubbling and brimming beneath her skin. No one could incite change by merely wishing. Such paths had to be forged by those with the will to act, and her will was mighty. She was a blazing inferno about to flicker out, but she would rage with all that was left in her before she did.

Projectiles are halted in casings of ice controlled by her will, or dodged as she flies and spins with the grace she besought Shiva bless her with moments prior. Though counterattacks landed at her have struck her with the measured fury of the Garleans, and she can feel herself slowly start to wane, there is a job to be done, and she will let no one else take the fall that she designated to be her own. Calling upon every ache within her, every wish she ever held for a better tomorrow, every last plea she made for change, her sight blurs and flickers with visions of her past, and a past that was never hers. Whether by the maiden’s intention or no, in this moment Ysayle is the vessel to Shiva, and she will help end this war, if only by galvanizing her warrior forward to the end.

Ice starts to wrap around her again, a chill as harsh as the winters she once weathered, but it does not incite suffering within her, only greater strength. She is pulling upon every last onze of her aether to multiply the bullet of ice in size, and put an end to the interference threatening the Scions’ travels to Azys Lla. She is killing herself, but she  _ will  _ be enough. 

She presses on, an eruption of ice staggering and halting the Garlean airship. At this moment, it is enough. She has cleared passage for her Warrior, and poured herself into the forge meant to foster the future change. She knows that with the aether she expended, these moments are her last. Yet for now her body hangs in the balance, sheltered by the armour of hopes and dreams. Her attacks have stilled, but the Garleans fire one last shot at her. She knew her demise to be certain, but what would a guarantee to every onlooker really cost her? The rest of her aether sparks up fast and diminishes faster, a roar to a whisper, before she shifts back to her true self. 

Just a girl who had walked alone in the snow as tears streaked her face. Just a girl who clung to prayer and dream and  _ hope  _ . Just a girl who still believed in a world without suffering, even after having caused more than a share herself. The visage of Shiva falls away, the moniker of Lady Iceheart no longer hers to bear. Before she had been hardened enough for that title to be hers to claim, she had been but a girl. Now, she would leave the world as a woman who had relearned what family meant, and come to understand that she was not restricted to walking her path alone. She had a heart,  _ a pulse _ , and she no longer had to safeguard it in armor of ice.

There is a scream in the distance, emotionally charged,  _ heartfelt  _ , and she is briefly cognizant of that, but her life is ending, and she has farewells to whisper to those keen enough to listen. 

She falls.

_ Thank you, Hydaelyn. _

The world rushes past her.

_ Thank you, Saint Shiva. _

A flurry of cold air, and chartreuse skies crackling with energy.

_ Thank you, Hraesvelgr. _

Her life is waning still.

_ Thank you… my Warrior. _

She inhales… exhales.

_ Farewell, my Warrior of Light. And thank you for showing me the way. _

With her last prayers, she becomes nothing more but aether in the wind, clinging to its last gasp of life before fading away.

The world with its whipping wind, and harsh realities surrounded her no longer. Now she felt only warmth and light.

_ Hear.  _

_ Feel.  _

_ Think.  _

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hah. I'm probably crying right now. If you got even a tear or wibble of emotion out of this, thank you. If you feel compelled to tell me as much, I might cry more. Ysayle really is oh so dear to my heart and soul, and this is not the end! This is a three part series, as currently laid out, with room for more and/or another series to follow it up.
> 
> If you would like, I have a twitter [right here](https://twitter.com/Iady_iceheart). It will mostly be retweets, me crying over Ysayle, Yotsuyu, and Emet-Selch, and like... coffee liveblogging.
> 
> Acknowledgements must be paid to Roan ([minorthirds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minorthirds/)) and Kay ([aureata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureata/)). Both are my dearest friends who encouraged me to publish again, and sat with me through the early dredges of writing this little fic. I literally sent Roan a picture of my incomprehensible cursive first draft - which she could not, in fact, read - up through this very last draft which is before you today. Both of them have offered me the kindness of reading the progress of this character study, and offering their critique and feedback. They are also pillars of light in my life, offering me love and encouragement when I need it most. So this fic, as well as those which succeed it, are in every way dedicated to the two of you. Thank you.
> 
> And once again, for clicking in and reading this, thank you. Be safe, be kind to yourself, and remember how strong you are. Much love, Melanie.


End file.
